His Last Vow
by akuroku-time-sayori
Summary: This is how I thought or a rough idea how I thought the season finale was going to be. Boy was I wrong. Rated T for drug use


His Last Vow

Of all the possibilities, this one was the most unpredictable. Yes, we saved the city of London. With the terroristic threat extinguished, at least for today, and Moran gone, you would think all things would wrap up nicely but here I stood in great mourning of the past few days events. I comforted my friend John but there were only tears from both of us.

"Oh Mr. Holmes! I can't thank yo-"

"It was nothing, you're welcome and now please if you could just leave." I assisted the client out of his flat and sighed. The cases were then utterly boring, a missing ring, love affairs ordinary stuff that I barely had to leave the room to figure out. My life after Dr. John Watson, ex-surgeon in the British military and my flatmate of three years, and his partner Mary Morstan, nurse and soon to be mother, were married, became a chore. Day after day, never knowing when that one really good case would show up and if it did would I be able to bring my best friend John with me. John became increasingly watchful of Mary and their future child. Which I had not understood in the least. Mary was perfectly healthy and able- being a nurse herself- of treating any slight difficulty that would've arose. It made no difference to John though, I tried so hard to convince him to come. I even tried to call him up on the really uninteresting cases but, every time his answer was 'I've got to stay with Mary' even though Mary encouraged him to go. Thinking of John, I often deduce that his height might be a cause of his stubbornness with me or maybe even that incident sometime ago when I faked my death for some time.

I shook my head and ran my fingers through my curly brown locks in frustration. Instead of smoking away my thoughts, like I had tried so often not to do, my mind wandered to the sound of light yet comforting footsteps in the kitchen below. Mrs. Hudson was making tea out of boredom and lack of things to do. _'Oh how I wish it was that simple'_, I thought while laying down upon the leather couch in the common room in my falt. Before I knew it, I began lighting my pipe. John would never allow me to get this out. I shouldn't have got this out, really. _'It'll destroy that brilliant mind of yours Sherlock'_, _'That stuff will kill you'_, and of course Johns speech about drug abuse. Johns hazel green eyes would turn bright as he'd so emotionally describe mental cases as he tried to convince me to stop. What else am I to do anyway? John brought clarity to my constantly stirring mind. What more could I do than to clear it with something harmfully distracting?

Hours later, awakening from my own drug induced sleep, there started a quick pace up the stairs. The steps were heavy but quick. From the supposed weight and sound of their hand sliding up the rail, I decided it was either Mycroft or DI Lestrade. The cocaine still in my system blurred my mind from telling who it was for sure but I hid the pipe anyway. Neither my brother Mycroft or his friend and police detective, Lestrade would be very approving of my habit. It was Lestrade who barged in, he threw a file and sat down in a wooden chair near my work desk.

"Hey! I got a case for ya!", He announced gruffly. "We found a note for you in this mans body and even morticians can't figure out why hes dead or how the note got there!" The case file in my hands was light with miniscule notes on everything. Reported by his wife who claims he just dropped in the street, there was a most recent picture of the man and a few from the examination at the morgue. I skimmed a few pages till he reached the note to him in what seemed to be written in hemoglyphobic compound since the ink was still visible through the blood stained paper. It read:

_'Sherlock it seems you've missed me. Be prepared. Cause now I know._'

"Well?" Lestrade asked curiously after noticing I had gotten to the note.

"how vague.." I commented. Lestrade rubbed his aged face and slumped over in his chair.

"No shit, Sherlock! That's what me and all of Scotland yard couldn't figure out!" Lestrade said sarcastically as he shot out of the chair. He scratched his graying head in anger. I supposed he had wanted something more out of that. I sighed and explained my theory for the note.

"A about two years back, around the time of my return, I stopped a bomb that would've taken out big ben and the surrounding area. If you'll recall, the terrorist threat was and still is yet to be discovered.

"Before that, John was drugged and put into a bonfire unknowingly to the public but soon after saved by me-"

"Wait why didn't either of you blokes report that?", Lestrade interrupted.

"Because if you would have more patience you'd know that Johns captors were not found either. I assume by this letter this is the same genius who has so skillfully left me this note and placed inside the poor fellow who died to have it delivered." I took the note and pinned it to the board above my couch and marked the area the victim had fallen on a near by map. Interesting. The DI's phone went fo as I ran through a few facts in my head. He answered the call and asked me to return the case file when I was finished with it as he left the building. I hurried to my cell on the desk.

'_oh this is fantastic. Just the thing to get John-_' My train of thought suddenly stopped with the reminder that Mary was due in a matter of days and he would probably refuse. I put down the phone and paced. I needed John with him on this one though. It was about his safety. I, in a way, missed him being around the flat with me all the time. I picked up the phone and decided Mary would be a better way to get John over here to help me. Mary seemed to understand my need for John better than he did, and if I'm correct his need for me. She with her somewhat tricky ways of deceiving John into going on cases with me. Its been months since the last time John had been swayed to assisting me, though. I began to doubt this could work. I heard the phone ring a few times before Mary so cheerfully answered.

"Oh Sherlock, dear! How are you?" she sounded like she was smiling and heard the decreasing volume of a t.v.

"I'm fine. Could you try to get John to come down and work on this case with me? I could use the help." I tried my best to change my normally sarcastic voice to something a little more inviting. The sound of John's voice echoed in the background of the call. I could make out some of what he was saying, something of unimportance like his hair graying more and more by the day.

"Whos on the phone, dear?" John asked after I heard the squeaking of a leather couch against his jacket. John had just gotten back in from his job at the local hospital.

"Its Sherlock", Mary covered the receiver and began telling him that he should come help me. I couldn't make out quite what was being said I assumed from the tone of their voices and the slight raising of voices that Mary had won the little argument. The phone was passed over to John.

"So where do want to meet at?" I smiled, his tone sounded like the old John. Filled with curiosity, ready for the adventure, just like the old times.

"Just come to the flat tomorrow at noon."

"Alright see you then." John hung up the phone before I could say goodbye which meant he was either anxious or angry. _'Oh well' _ I thought before retiring.

That next morning John and a new client arrived. He and I sat in our usual chairs right next to the fireplace, just like old times, while the young woman with red hair told us her tale. "The other day, I was walking with my husband. It was a perfectly normal day. Out shopping and what not. Then right in the middle of the street he fell out, dead. For no good reason according to the police! Can't explain it at all-"

"I'm familiar with the case. I was on my way to examine the body myself before you arrived, actually. So if this is what its all about then you can just leave." I told her finding the repeated story boring beyond belief. John glared at me and sighed, probably thinking I was being rude or insensitive. The small ginger shot up out of her chair, enraged.

"Mr. Holmes my husband is alive. sitting in my car right outside this flat." she pointed to the window behind my chair. Johns eyes grew as wide as dinner plates he got out of his chair and looked at a bloke with short, dirty blond swept hair smoking against the side of the car. I got up and looked at him too. He looked exactly the way he did in the case file. I could tell he was a lonely man, probably an only child, except for his wife and very little friends. I told the girl to bring him up.

"Is that really him?", John asked as they waited for the couple to climb back up the stairs. He looked disturbed probably considering he was so recently married himself and feared for his lover. I patted John on the shoulder and told him to sit back down.

"I'm about to find out." I said hearing the approaching footsteps. His footsteps were dulled but hard, lanky as he might be he works on his feet. He was wearing walking shoes in fairly good condition probably a nurse. The young man had bags under his eyes. He looked exactly like the dead man in the photograph. The man then proceeded to explain the events of the previous days. He had worked overtime from the morning his wife explained that he had went shopping with her to night the next day. When he came home his wife screamed and cried and he had not a single clue to why. Which had brought them here they avoided the police just in case it had formed into an other worldly case (which somehow they were accustomed to). John and the man identified as Rory made a joke about a scary movie. Anyway, I took the case and a DNA sample.

We all left the flat going opposite directions, the young couple probably home and John and I to St. Barts hospital to examine the body. We spoke to Molly Hooper the mortician who explained everything about the examination. But everything was screwed up. We studied the body and his medical history and nothing added up. However a quick look over the body, I found a diminutive scar behind his ear where a small explosive cartridge had been placed. Later investigation proved that it released a toxin into the brain that caused the whole body to shut down and no other strange scars were found. It still didn't explain the doppelganger situation or the note found inside the body. There was no record of a twin or even brother. Just as I deducted, was an only child with no living relative except possibly a biological father in which the discovery of him would be a nearly impossible task to undertake. Some time during the chemical investigation of blood samples, John discovered a small discrepancy in the DNA samples between these two men. I had finally found a clue. We were on to something it seemed but we still had no identification on the man we had discovered. It was late though, John fell asleep on the desk nearby. I too had gotten tired. So i gathered the current results and woke up John for the ride home. He called Mary and told her he'd be sleeping at the flat.

The next morning John began researching the minute he was fully awake. I was still asleep at the time until John found something. Apparently Rorys doppelganger had recently moved into a nearby flat in Greenford. After some tea and the packing of two handguns (just in case), John and I headed out. Other than the snippy landlord we had no problem getting into the flat. John chatted with the landlord about the tenant there. His name was Gilbert but he said nothing of a brother or any family for that matter. His only reference was from his last flatmate in Maidstone. I searched the flat for some clues on his records but none were found. The case began to grow cold but they did identify him. Now all they needed to know was why he acted like Rory. I rose from the desk I was examining and sighed. John and I prepared to leave while we did a bit of last minute questioning of the landlord.

"Did he have any friends that you know of?" I asked adjusting my scarf.

"Not really. He did have one guy visit him at times. Always in a suit. Business man or something. I never caught his name though." the man shrugged.

"Is there any of the neighbors who might know?" John inquired.

"Hmm the young lad downstairs might. Goes by Knox." I dashed out of the flat. I heard John thank the man and leave the flat behind me. John grabbed my trench coat after stepping off the last step of the staircase.

"Do you even know which rooms his?" I continued walking making John fall over himself

"There are three rooms on this floor. Laundry room, the landlords room and Mr. Knox's' room. We've seen one, the other has no door at all. Therefore," I knocked on the before,"this must be-" The door opened to reveal a bright, blonde young man who I presumed was Mr. Knox.

"Uh.. Hello?" Knox asked warily.

"Hello, Do you know a man by the name Gilbert who lives upstairs?"

"Oh yes. Are you Sherlock Holmes?", Knox asked cheerfully. John gave me a questioning look.

"Yes I am. Why?"

"Alright come on in! Your package is here." _What the hell?, _I thought. Impossible for me to have a package here. Knox lead us in smiling and directed us to the sitting room so he could go find my package. John took a seat on the red loveseat next to the coffee table. When Knox came back, he brought a box cutter in case I wanted to open it there. Which I did.

"Gil knew you'd be stopping by here. Hes outta town. You a friend of his?" He smiled whilst I cut through the tape. John looked up at me, distressed. He must of been worried about the poor bloke. Not knowing what happened yet and all. John rose from the seat and put his arm on Knoxs' shoulder.

"I'm sorry Knox but your friend Gil is dead." Knox went wide eyed. He looked as though he was about to be sick or fall over. They were closer than the landlord was lead to believe.

"W-What happened?" He said breathlessly. John went through explaining the situation and investigation currently going. Knox leaned against the wall.

"I just saw him the other day! How could this be?" Knox explained that over this recent time they had grown close to each other. They worked close to each other for sometime, him in the resale store across the bistro Gil washed dishes at. They would meet everyday on their break to have a smoke and grab some lunch. Gil had visited Knoxs' flat many times and it was just before the last time he saw Knox that he had given the package to him. Knox did not cry (at least not in front of John and I). John comforted him some more while I wrestled the package open. I removed bubblewrap from the mid sized box. It was a picture of Guy Fawkes. Obviously a reference to Johns near death experience with a bonfire on last November. Why it had been sent to me i'm not sure. We left the building and Knox, behind us. I told Watson about the picture and how we should analyze the picture for prints.

Something bit the back of my neck while John hailed a cab. Strange that bug bite, or so I thought, I couldn't speak. My entire body began to go stiff and I went to grasp Johns jacket before I fell out completely. As I hit the ground, John had just turned around to aid me as a cab approached us. He should've known or at least guessed that only trouble would arrive in that vehicle. Two men wearing a ski masks exited the vehicle and captured John before my eyes. I was unable to move for a few hours simply, staring at the sky. It changed from light to dark before my eyes, I passed out.

Awoken by my ringtone going off, feeling began returning to my sleeping limbs. It stopped but soon started again. In a feeble attempt to reach my phone, my arm slid down. _'Strange where am I'_, I thought as my hand landed on what I believed to be hardwood flooring. I struggled to open my eyes and focused on the setting. I recognized it to be Knoxs' flat, complete with its occupant napping in the nearby chair. Knox had found me earlier on the sidewalk and brought me inside so to wait for me to wake up. I finally managed to grumble a few words of foolishness and rise when my ringtone started on again. Managing only to remove the phone from my pocket and see who was calling, my fingers refused to let me answer it. The caller was Mary. I debated over telling her about the most recent event in our little adventure considering her condition. I answered the phone deciding truth was probably for the best.

"YeessMary", my words slurred past my lips. Mary on the other end was breathing heavily, panicking or something else.

"I can't reach John. Whats going on?" She panted. She sounded like she was fuming with rage but I knew better.

"Mary you'll have to trust me I'm not sure about his current whereabouts but do not worry I will find him. For now you should just call Janine and head the hospital." I controlled the slur for a few seconds.

"How th-! Oh nevermind, just find him quickly!" Mary hung up, her tone desperate. I staggered across the floor, grabbing the Fawkes portrait on the way and back outside to the nearest cab. I told the cabbie 221B Baker St. and took another look at the picture of the infamous Guy Fawkes. After I rescued John, I did through research on the historical figure with no clues whatsoever to the connection between the kidnapping and his name. The ride to my flat proved more useful as I examined the frame and portrait. It was honestly an old exquisite piece done by a fellow Catholic artist at the time because behind him was what seemed to be the remnants of a great explosion. The Gunpowder Plot, which gave Guy Fawkes his place in history, was foiled which is why its celebrated. The building behind him must've been the parliamentary building they plotted to destroy. The portrait in his hand was to depict the succession of a plan gone according to plan. That building had been moved in the 1800s so my goal is the original building or at least where the building originally was. I demanded the cabbie to change course and head there.

We arrived minutes later. I paid the cabbie off and dove right into searching. It wasn't long before I heard someone ranting. Likely the person who has been trying to destroy London and torment me at the same time. I approached the double doors from which the speech was coming. A window to the side of the door frame gave a view of the next room. A tall, blonde man strutted in front of John. His arms and legs were bound to the chair. From here I could see that his arms were cut into where he attempted to free himself. Blood dripped from the ropes suggesting a recent attempt.

"He should be here any second now, Watson. Aren't you excited? He'll come in to save the day." The man laughed.

"You make it sound like you want him to come, Moran." John told him sarcastically.

"Oooh but I do." Moran stated with a grin. "See if you haven't noticed as soon as I send that email. All of London will fall." As soon as he said that I knew I had to work quickly. I pulled out my handgun and aimed for the laptop. The device had to be destroyed.

"And you just want Sherlock to see it happen." John glared at Moran. Moran slapped him and I pulled the trigger. The bullet shot through the glass of the window and busted through the laptop. The force of the bullet knocked the broken laptop into the floor. Just as quickly Moran cocked a gun of his own and put it to Johns head. I forced my way through the doors, gun in hand.

"Stop. Now. Drop your weapon, and I won't shoot." I announced. Moran smiled.

"No," Moran said stubbornly as he pointed the gun towards me. "You're gonna drop your weapon and i'm gonna walk out of here. Right now my friends outside can hear me. If anything were to happen to me they'd bring the whole place down. Isn't that right?" A small two way radio located somewhere on Moran screeched and replied with a scratchy 'Yes, sir!'

"Sherlock you've got to kill him." John looked at him. He was upset but ready to take him down. I threw down my gun to his great discontent. Moran grinned.

"Thanks. I'll see you around. Well maybe." And on that note he tossed his own gun and strolled out of the room whistling as he left. Once gone I hurriedly untied John, took his hand and dashed out the way he had entered the building.

They were feet away when the whole building collapsed in on itself. "What the hell! What just happened?!" John dumbfoundedly asked while I calmly watched the building fall to bits.

"36 barrels of explosives in the bottom most basement floor of a centuries old building where the original Gunpowder Plot was planned to be attempted to kill King James I. A.k.a. Morans way of saying hello." John stood there in complete shock. Police and civilians arrived to come check out the scene. After everything cleared up I received a call from Janine (Marys friend).

"Hello? Hello? Mary needs to know if you've found John."

"Yes Hes right here and we're on our way" I hung up and called up a cab. John followed me to the cab. "St. Barts Hospital please."

"Why are we going there?" John questioned.

"You're going to be a father, thats why."

John ranted all the way to the hospital complaining that I should've told him in the first place. I ignored most of it knowing he was just stressing out about being a father and all. When we arrived to the waiting room, Janine met with John outside the door and hugged him, teasing that he was late. He released Janine quickly to join Mary in the delivery room. I stuck around the waiting room with Janine and awaited the new arrival. A couple hours passed and something went wrong and Mary was sent in for an emergency Caesarean section. We had arrived at the hospital at 11:30 it wasn't until 4:45 that tragedy struck. Mary's heart had given out during the procedure. They saved child but not her. The little girl was 7 pounds 3 ounces and in perfect health. The following days I and Janine moved in with him to help with the baby and the funeral. Neither of which I was fond of at all.

Emily Amanda Watson lied sleeping in my arms. It had been four weeks since Moran escaped, Mary died and Emily was born. We visited Mary's grave every weekend and there had not been a word from Sebastian Moran. Though I'd love to assume he was gone for good I Knew he wasn't.


End file.
